From 2001-03, I called the northwest corner of Louisiana my home. My initial foray into the real world was met with a trip halfway across the country - a trip that consisted of a thirty-six hour bus ride (with plenty of transfers in sketchy towns in between) and a friend in Little Rock who took me the rest of the way to the Pelican State. Prior to this, my only moment spent in the state was interviewing for the position. That was early June, where I hopped aboard a couple planes and was whisked away to campus for hours upon hours of interrogation. The interview process wasn't really that bad, but what was bad was my ill-fated idea to take a walk around campus shortly after the interview ended. I was drenched in sweat upon my return, completely oblivious that the humidity there stuck around much longer than it did back in upstate New York. Regardless, I was in love. I was in love with this idea of continuing (starting, maybe?) my life elsewhere.
The first few weeks of my Louisiana adventure were mostly a blur. I spent most of it in a hospital, my left calf bloated with a condition I wasn't fully aware of then. A coworker took the tough love approach and dragged my sorry butt to the ER a few weeks before the students were to arrive. I was resistant, but she was having none of it. I'm grateful for her effort, otherwise who knows how long I would have lasted before I collapsed into a heap of bones and skin on a floor somewhere, probably in front of impressionable teenagers.
My time there happened way too fast. Not enough time and too many emotions in and out of there. Unfortunately, the ups and downs of daily interaction took its toll on me somehow, forcing me to withdraw from most activities. Prior to the start of my last semester there, I broke down. In short, I was miserable. I don't know what triggered it. Over winter break, we had a snowstorm back in upstate New York that canceled flights, and I was unable to attend a staff retreat. Somehow this was the icing on the cake for me. Or at best, a sure sign that things were over. I flew out a few days later, missing the retreat and unintentionally distancing myself from my colleagues and students. I knew this was the end.
Once I managed to return to Natchitoches, I knew my fate was sealed. It wasn't right away, but in my head I was finished with that place. I wanted out. Spoke to my supervisor there, who agreed it was time to maybe start exploring options elsewhere. And that's what happened. I applied to graduate school on Long Island. I got in, but never attended. Mostly because I didn't plan for the transition, but that's beside the point. I was done with this town. This place. Some people. Peace out, man.
Underneath the visage I created that I was some classy top of the line guy completely invested in the students there, was this constant craving to go and do whatever the hell I wanted. And for the most part, I did just that. Especially after hours, when all the students should have been sleeping (they rarely were). I befriended a few folks on the outside - those who didn't work at the school - and we had our share of fun away from the very environment that was slowly tearing me apart. Those moments provided a great and quite necessary relief from the hectic schedule I led otherwise.
I ended up leaving Natchitoches quietly after two years, a few short days after seeing our second batch of seniors walk across the stage in their caps and gowns. Some snapped photos in the lobby outside the arena afterward. Not many of those photos included me, and that was okay. I knew it was over, and the students did too. I walked back to the dorm alone with my thoughts and a not-quite-yet in place plan for leaving town. In the days after, I said my goodbyes to friends and coworkers and students still in the area. Another coworker, who was switching rooms from his hall to my own, started moving his belongings into my office. I hadn't even begun packing, yet the transition was already happening. There was no turning back now. I was unable to find my supervisor on the day I was leaving - which in hindsight I guess was kind of ironic, given my deteriorating relationship with just about everyone working there by then - so I relinquished my keys by leaving them in the office mailbox.
The first few weeks of my Louisiana adventure were mostly a blur. I spent most of it in a hospital, my left calf bloated with a condition I wasn't fully aware of then. A coworker took the tough love approach and dragged my sorry butt to the ER a few weeks before the students were to arrive. I was resistant, but she was having none of it. I'm grateful for her effort, otherwise who knows how long I would have lasted before I collapsed into a heap of bones and skin on a floor somewhere, probably in front of impressionable teenagers.
My time there happened way too fast. Not enough time and too many emotions in and out of there. Unfortunately, the ups and downs of daily interaction took its toll on me somehow, forcing me to withdraw from most activities. Prior to the start of my last semester there, I broke down. In short, I was miserable. I don't know what triggered it. Over winter break, we had a snowstorm back in upstate New York that canceled flights, and I was unable to attend a staff retreat. Somehow this was the icing on the cake for me. Or at best, a sure sign that things were over. I flew out a few days later, missing the retreat and unintentionally distancing myself from my colleagues and students. I knew this was the end.
Once I managed to return to Natchitoches, I knew my fate was sealed. It wasn't right away, but in my head I was finished with that place. I wanted out. Spoke to my supervisor there, who agreed it was time to maybe start exploring options elsewhere. And that's what happened. I applied to graduate school on Long Island. I got in, but never attended. Mostly because I didn't plan for the transition, but that's beside the point. I was done with this town. This place. Some people. Peace out, man.
Underneath the visage I created that I was some classy top of the line guy completely invested in the students there, was this constant craving to go and do whatever the hell I wanted. And for the most part, I did just that. Especially after hours, when all the students should have been sleeping (they rarely were). I befriended a few folks on the outside - those who didn't work at the school - and we had our share of fun away from the very environment that was slowly tearing me apart. Those moments provided a great and quite necessary relief from the hectic schedule I led otherwise.
I ended up leaving Natchitoches quietly after two years, a few short days after seeing our second batch of seniors walk across the stage in their caps and gowns. Some snapped photos in the lobby outside the arena afterward. Not many of those photos included me, and that was okay. I knew it was over, and the students did too. I walked back to the dorm alone with my thoughts and a not-quite-yet in place plan for leaving town. In the days after, I said my goodbyes to friends and coworkers and students still in the area. Another coworker, who was switching rooms from his hall to my own, started moving his belongings into my office. I hadn't even begun packing, yet the transition was already happening. There was no turning back now. I was unable to find my supervisor on the day I was leaving - which in hindsight I guess was kind of ironic, given my deteriorating relationship with just about everyone working there by then - so I relinquished my keys by leaving them in the office mailbox.
Looking back on things, I don't regret my decision to hop on that Greyhound back home. I gave it a shot, and it just didn't work out how I hoped. But the journey and experience will last me a lifetime.